


paint me any colour

by wandasmaximoffs



Series: enjoltaire week 2017 [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjoltaire Week 2017, Fluff, M/M, So much fluff!!!, altho its less painting and more grantaire being sappy and lovesick, theme: painting, they're just in love okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 05:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/pseuds/wandasmaximoffs
Summary: “Youlivehere?”Enjolras looks like he’s about to drop the heavy bags full of paint tins and rollers out of shock, so Grantaire makes the executive decision to swoop in and take them before his floor becomes even more of a paint stained disaster zone than it already is.





	paint me any colour

“You  _ live _ here?”

Enjolras looks like he’s about to drop the heavy bags full of paint tins and rollers out of shock, so Grantaire makes the executive decision to swoop in and take them before his floor becomes even more of a paint stained disaster zone than it already is. 

(He also thinks he should be a little offended at Enjolras’ tone, but if anything he’s just amused. Enjolras doesn’t sound  _ disgusted _ or anything, he’s just got a bleeding heart and a lot of concern for his boyfriend’s current state of living.)

This is not the first time Enjolras has visited Grantaire’s little garage-slash-studio-slash-home. He’s been here many times, posing for portfolio work or just hanging out while Grantaire tears his hair out over an oil painting. 

Granted, it’s a little below his means-- He’s making enough on commissions and his shitty barista job that he could afford a decent-sized apartment, but he  _ likes  _ his little garage. Sure, it’s basically just a concrete square with a rolling iron shutter for a door and a tiny bathroom shoved in the side, and  _ sure, _ he’s been burgled four times in the years he’s lived here, but it’s  _ home.  _

It’s the first place he ever got in Paris, and it’s just down the street from the Musain and his college,  _ and  _ it doubles as a studio.

Heatless and leaky and small as it is, he  _ likes  _ living there.

“Babe, you’ve been here before,” He says, grunting when he takes the weight of the bags and drops them on his mattress, which is shoved in the corner to make space for the half-covered canvas in the middle of the room. “You’ve been here many times before. You were here yesterday, in fact. I said, “Hey, will you help me paint my place tomorrow?” and you said, “Oh, sure honey,” and now we’re here, ready to paint. Remember that?”

Enjolras, still standing in what, with such a lack of a door  _ cannot  _ be described as a  _ doorway, _ and instead is more of an  _ entryway _ , looks thoroughly unimpressed.

“I remember. I just assumed this was your studio, and you were living with Joly or something.” His expression softens, and Grantaire sighs heavily, far too aware of what’s about to come. 

“R, if you need somewhere to stay, you know my place is--”

“--Big enough for the both of us, I  _ know.  _ It’s okay, E. I live here by choice. I like living here. Keeps me humble. And besides,” He sniffs, “It fits my aesthetic.”

Grantaire grins, trying to convey how okay he is with humble surroundings. It must work, because Enjolras relaxes visibly, crossing the room in a few long strides to wrap his arms around Grantaire’s neck.

(Which is quite a feat, considering Enjolras is at least two heads shorter than his boyfriend.)

“I didn’t mean to sound-- high-horsey.” He mumbles into his neck, and Grantaire laughs quietly. He knows, he always knows, that Enjolras only ever wants what is best. 

“You didn’t sound high-horsey, babe,” Says Grantaire, kissing his boyfriend’s head, “You sounded like your usual concerned self. But there is no reason for you to be concerned, okay?”

Enjolras nods, still pressed against Grantaire, who then gets a faceful of bouncing curls. “Okay.”

“Okay then. Now go get changed, this matchbox isn’t gonna paint itself.”

“...Changed?” Enjolras asks, stiffening in Grantaire’s arms, and Grantaire has to fight back a laugh. Of course Enjolras would forget to bring a change of clothes. Contrary to popular belief, Enjolras is not a naturally organised man. He relies on carefully compiled lists and constant phone alarms to get him where he needs to be-- The man would forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on.

“Yeah. You can’t paint in those, they’ll get all stained and shit. Don’t worry about it, you can wear one of my shirts-- Just grab any, they’re all stained as hell anyway.”

It’s true; Grantaire can’t recall a single piece of clothing he owns, underwear included, that isn’t stained by paint in some way. Maybe the suit he saves for special events, but he’s pretty sure even that has at least  _ some _ flecks on the sleeves.

Enjolras sighs heavily and pulls away from Grantaire, then leans up on his tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks. Back in a minute.”

“Get ye gone, man,” Calls Grantaire, who delights in Enjolras’ huff of a laugh as he walks away, and starts up on opening paint tins and unwrapping rollers.

 

* * *

 Enjolras reemerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, and Grantaire forgets how to breathe for a minute. 

 His dress shirt and pants are folded neatly in his arms, and he’s swamped in the green t-shirt of Grantaire’s that he’s chosen to wear. That shirt in particular is too big for Grantaire himself, which is why he likes it, but it’s practically a dress on the much shorter and slimmer Enjolras. Hs curls are piled up high on top of his head in a messy bun-ponytail crossover, a few loose strands coming loose already and falling into his eyes. 

 They’ve been dating for a few months now, but Grantaire still can’t over the joy of seeing him wearing his clothes. 

 (He loves him so very, very much.)

“Ready,” He announces, dropping his folded clothes onto a half-deflated beanbag and covering them over with an old magazine

“Right you are, gorgeous. Here,” Says Grantaire, wiggling his eyebrows in the way he knows always makes Enjolras laugh and handing him a roller. 

True to form, Enjolras  _ does  _ laugh, and throws in an eye roll for good measure.

“Alright then, let’s get started.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> AAAA okay so i intended to have more actual painting in this fic but idk, grantaire's love for his boyfriend and tiny living space just took over. the usual stuff applies, tip ur fic writers with comments/kudos, hmu on tumblr @ jehanprouvaiire, and heres to a hopefully fruitful exr week!!


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